Deformed
by Roony
Summary: Something is brutally killing in LA's Sin District. John Constantine sets out to stop it, but ends up running into more trouble than he wants. (set pre-movie) Finally got a new chapt up! Sry for the wait! Reviews welcome!
1. Prologuethe Sin District

Disclaimer: I don't own Constantine, but someone does….maybe Marvel? I dunno.

A/N-okay, so, this is my first Constantine fic and is going to be my first on-going fic w/ multi-chaps.

This story takes place a while before the movie-months maybe, if not longer. Also-this story is heavily occult based, with all kinds of myths, legends, creatures, etc. The stuff I put in here is very 'truth' based.

Reviews are welcome all around. Love me, flame me, w/e.

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**Deformed**

**Prologue**

The Sin District did not get its name out of some sort of error or mix-up. You didn't even have to know where it was; you knew where you were as soon as you entered it. It wasn't from the rancid smell coming from the alleys, the bars that had little more to offer than heavy, bad tasting drinks; smoke, and possibly fatal injury from the many-a-night brawls, the buildings that were either falling apart or already had, or the hookers that did not look a millennium's distance within 18. L.A. had plenty of those.

You knew you were in the Sin District by the feel of the air. It made you look over your shoulder every two minutes, it made you want to just sprint as fast as you could. And the annual number and types of crimes that took place there didn't help you try and shake the feeling.

Things had been bloody and perverse in the Sin District for over a century. Mob trouble in L.A. had naturally been around in the 20's and thirties, but the Sin District had claim to a 'special event'. In 1928, Jacob 'Jake the Snake' Pistocelli and his gang had been missing for months, and authorities had presumed that they had fled the country. But, a group of five boys, ages ranging from 8 to 15 years old, had broken into an abandoned house in the Sin District, probably looking for some fun. In the basement, they found Pistocelli and his gang-or, what was left. The mobsters were found chained up and with their skin _peeled off_. The police never found the skin, and the boys all become deeply psychologically affected, one committed suicide in later years.

In 1952, Hale Krone, a prominent businessman, and his wife, a respectable English teacher, drove their Ford to the Sin District one evening. A few hours later that night, a busboy taking out the trash out of a diner, _The Quiet Gull_, saw whom he later identified as the Krones carrying something wrapped in a white sheet out of their Ford-something that he later testified was _moving_. The busboy, curious, quietly followed the Krones as they took the large object into a nearby apartment building. The busboy watched from a window as he saw the Krones and one dozen other individuals-all of whom were later identified as respectable community members, even a member of the city council-perform a religious ritual, which included drinking the blood of and killing the Krones's guest, a 17-year old girl, Molly Thratch, a student of Mrs. Krones herself. The busboy called the police from _The Quiet Gull_, who arrived on the scene just as the cult members were about to depart. The police found several bodies at the scene, all of which had connections to the cult members.

There were other cases, but these were the most known of the Sin District incidents.

It was the infamousness of the Sin District that made it difficult for business owners, and more specifically those involved with prostitution. There were plenty of other corners for girls to stand on that were _not_ in the Sin District.

That was exactly how Kristi Rolletti had felt when she'd first started working for 'Mr. B.' as her boss called himself. She'd heard plenty of stories about the Sin District had had no intention of making money anywhere near there. But Mr. B. was a very good persuader, far more than Kristi could fully understand. He made her and the other girls feel taken care of, and this effect had worked-even since Ashlee's murder.

Kristi hadn't known Ashlee, not well at least. She knew Ashlee's face: an enchanting round, pale face that reminded you of the moon, with soft blue eye make up and tulip-pink lip-sticked lips, all of this framed by lovely blonde hair. Ashlee's body had been found in the middle of a street-almost run over by a car, in fact. She had been severely beaten to death, her pelvis broken, her rib cage fractured in several places, and oh yeah-her skull had been crushed beyond recognition. The police had yet to find any suspects. When Ashlee had been found, Mr. B had gathered up the girls and given a little speech. Speeches usually bored Kristi, but whenever Mr. B spoke, it was like a warm security blanket was draped over her.

So there Kristi was, lighting up near an abandoned apartment building whose North wall was no longer in existence. Her not-all-that-real brown hair was lying limply on her shoulders, like it had fallen asleep at the late hour. Her dark purple eyes make-up was heavy, per usual, and her painted dark red lips held the cig with practiced balance. She twirled a few strands of hair on a finger with a painted black fingernail. Not many customers lately; murders were bad business, and the Sin District was bad enough on normal days anyway.

She tucked her lighter back into the pocket of her biker leather jacket, which was only a little shorter than her purple mini skirt. She looked up and down the road. Nothing… But it sure as hell felt like there was something out there. She didn't like being alone, no matter how assuring Mr. B was. She wished that Gina had come with her, or Lita. But, they hadn't. She shrugged to herself. Oh well… She'd be okay.

Suddenly, she distinctly heard something move behind her.

Kristi turned around, and found herself looking at a figure, standing in the shadows about 100 yards away. She didn't like the look of the guy...he seemed oddly shaped.

"You want somethin' big guy?" she called over to him, putting on a casual persona. She _did_ need the money.

The figure didn't speak in return, but grunted as it stood dumbly on the street.

Kristi frowned worriedly. "Hey, look, I don't got no money…" she said nervously, "You want anythin' else, I charge by the hour." She smiled tensely at her joke.

Again, the figure did not answer her, but instead made a sort of grunting noise. Then it sounded like it was…_smelling_ the air, in deep gulps of the night air, like a dog trying to catch the fox's scent.

Kristi started to slowly back away. "Yeah, well…" she didn't get a chance to say anymore as the figure interrupted her, letting out a great roar, as if in rage.

Kristi screamed, turned, and ran. The figure ran after her, roaring and snarling. Had she been in running shoes, maybe even bare feet, Kristi probably would have outran the beast. But she was wearing heels, which failed her miserably and sent her to the ground after she'd only managed to run for ten yards. The figure closed the gap and Kristi tried to get up.

Kristi screamed into the night, but no one came to save her, not even the great Mr. B.


	2. Blood and Arms

whoa! Didn't expect so many reviews so soon! Bad news, guys-internet access will be somewhat limited after this chapt. Sorry, but there will be some significant time between updates. Hopefully, this will tide you over...for some time...

* * *

Chapter One- Blood and Arms

Red and blue lights flashed crazily on the brick and concrete. Police and forensics were all over the block, rushing around. The press hadn't arrived yet, but they were expected to arrive soon, therefore procedures had been sped up to be ready for cameras.

With all of the activity, it wasn't all that surprising that someone dressed in a plain black suit with a plain black tie, looking a little scuffed as if he'd just woken up (many people on the scene had done the same, answering a phone call at one in the morning), walking as if he knew exactly where he was going and why, had just lifted up the yellow 'CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS' tape and walked right into the crime scene without the slightest problem. This was exactly what John Constantine did at 1:30 am that Wednesday night. He did not fear any opposition, at least, not until he'd spotted the group of people gathered at one particular spot on the side of the road.

The small group was made up of three forensics-as they were identified by the yellow initials, CFT (Crime Forensics Team), on their backs-and two men who, judging by the heavy coats in Los Angeles, were detectives. Constantine made the correct assumption that this was where the next body was, or had been found. He hoped that the body was still there-the city morgue would have been a hell of a lot harder to get into. He walked purposefully toward the group, his made-up answers already running through his mind. He had to sell his alias to the detectives, or face not only jail time, but possibly a longer sentence in a place he had absolutely no intention of staying in.

He didn't see the body first…he only saw a part of it. It was by chance, really; his eyes just happened to cast downward at just the right moment. The very moment a CFT woman was putting it into a plastic bag. Constantine saw it, and he froze, his eyes captivated in horror. It was dirty, with mud and grime and blood all over it. But there was no question that the CFT woman was bagging a human arm, Constantine assumed it was a woman's, based on the painted black nails. Constantine eyed where the arm had been removed…it was not a clean cut. It was ragged and bloody…like it had been ripped off.

John steeled himself for whatever he would find ahead, and moved forward.

The forensics and the two detectives didn't notice John right away, giving him time to take in the sight of the body. It was another woman, and another prostitute judging from her immodest clothes and heavy makeup. Her body was flat on her back, her legs turned to the right and bent slightly. Her blue eyes were unseeing, but staring up at a certain angle, like she'd died watching her attacker walk away. She did not have arms, at least, not anymore. They had been ripped from her shoulders. White bone peaked sickeningly from her bloody shoulders. There was blood everywhere-she'd probably tried to save herself, but had obviously failed. John noticed that his very feet were inches from a puddle of the girl's blood. She was a girl-looking not much older than 19, maybe 20. Too young to have died such a horrible way.

"Hey, who're you?" a harsh voice brought John out of his dark thoughts and observations.

He looked up to find the two detectives looking at him. One looked rather confused; he was Caucasian, with the pinkish tan of someone who's seen too much sun over the years. The other, the one who had addressed John, looked more concerned; he was older than his partner, a black handlebar mustache was turning gray, standing out against the dark skin.

Constantine cleared his throat. "Detective Johns," he replied casually.

The elder detective looked him over like a hawk. "From what precinct? This is _our_ turf," he asked apprehensively.

Constantine shrugged. He lowered his voice to answer, "I'm from Sacramento, actually."

The two real detectives exchanged looks.

"And you're here because…?" the younger detective asked.

"We had another incident about a month ago, really similar to the past two you've had lately," Constantine replied, still keeping his voice low for effect.

"And you were thinking about telling us at a crime scene?" the elder detective said incredulously, an eyebrow raised.

Constantine shrugged. "Hey, I just do as I'm told, and my lieutenant told me to check out how things were going down here. My flight got in just a few hours ago. I grabbed a ride with an old friend of mine-he's in uniform now, looking to retire," John gestured vaguely towards the dozen or so squad cars, "and we heard the stuff over the line. Came over as soon as-"

"Wait, wait, wait," the younger detective interrupted, holding up a hand, "Who's your buddy?"

"Frank," Constantine replied making up the name on the spot.

The two detectives exchanged looks again. For a moment, John thought he was busted. He'd thought that the late hour would have worked to his advantage, making the detectives a little off.

_Damn it, there has to be at least one Frank…_ He thought to himself desperately.

Than the elder detective spoke, "No way. Frankie's retiring?"

A wave of relief filled all of Constantine's being. He slipped back into 'character' though, replying with a shrug, "Yeah. He didn't tell you guys?"

The younger detective shook his head. "No. Never woulda thought…"

"Well he did have those heart problems," the elder reminded the younger.

"Oh yeah…"the younger detective turned more directly to Constantine. "Detective Phelps," he introduced himself, offering a hand. Constantine took it.

"I'm Detective Herts," the elder Detective offered his hand, which Constantine also accepted, "Yeah, I heard about that girl on the news the other day. Looks like we've got someone real sick on our hands," he added with slight apology, "Sorry about grilling you. Was afraid the Feds were movin' in on us, you know?"

Constantine nodded neutrally. His attention turned back to the victim-he did not have time for the socializing, and he couldn't risk making a slip and revealing himself.

"Name's Kristi Rolletti," Detective Herts said, noticing Constantine's stare, "We got lucky; she had her license on her. The other girl didn't. Wasn't until her parents saw the new report that they called in, ID-ing her."

"How'd they recognize her?" it slipped out of Constantine's mouth. He'd seen the picture in the news report. You could hardly tell the thing on the screen had once been human-how could anyone have recognized the girl, even her own parents?

"There was a birth mark on her neck that the parents saw on news," Detective Phelps explained.

"So…" Again, Constantine turned his attention back to the body, "Died of blood loss, right?"

Herts nodded. "Well, obviously the M.E. still has to have a look, but there's not much to check out. We found her right arm by her body, her left arm down the road. We think her attacker ripped that one off first. She tried to run, but the blood loss slowed her down. Then the psycho caught up and ripped off the other arm. Left her to die, but even if he'd waited, wouldn't have had to wait long."

Phelps nodded in agreement. "Sure are some monsters out there," he said quietly.

_You haven't got a clue_, Constantine thought to himself.

"Well, we've already swept the scene, Johns," Herts said, raising and lowering a shoulder. "No finger prints-not one. We thought we was wearing gloves, but no trace of talcum powder from elastic gloves, and no imprints that would have been made from knitted gloves. No DNA either-the other girl wasn't raped or anything. Chances are this one wasn't either."

Constantine mulled this over in his mind.

Phelps looked over his shoulder to see the M.E.'s on the way, the gurney and body bag in company.

"Well, M.E.'s here. Guess that's all we can say for now, Johns. It's late-probably won't perform the autop. until morning," Phelps said.

Herts nodded. "Yeah. My wife's gonna chain me to the bed until about that long-she hates it when I go in the middle of the night."

Phelps turned to Constantine. "Guess we'll see you back at the station, Johns. Hey, but you can rest easy-no earthquakes around here."

"Oh, yeah…" Constantine gave a fake laugh. He'd heard about the earthquake in Sacramento vaguely on the news.

"Right. Have a good night, Johns," Herts said with a wave.

"Not likely…"Constantine muttered darkly as he watched the M.E.'s put Kristi Rolletti's armless, bloody body into the black bag.

* * *

The bowling alley's lights were on, but the doors had been locked hours ago. This was expected by Constantine; Beeman was a night-owl like himself. They say that there is no rest for the wicked-imagine how little there is for those who _fight_ the wicked.

John simply slipped the key from his coat pocket and unlocked the door. He quickly went in and didn't waste time looking around the seemingly empty bowling alley-Beeman would no doubt be waiting in his 'office', per usual.

And indeed, amongst the pin machinery, way in the back, was a lanky, bookish man surrounded by shelves of books and strange objects, all of which relating to the occult.

Beeman turned around in his chair, his beady eyes behind his thick glasses looking at John expectantly.

"You're late," he said, though he sounded like he'd expected that too.

John shrugged. "Got held up," he said with a shrug as he took a cig and his lighter out to light up.

"Well? Was it another girl? Brutally killed?" Beeman sounded like they were conversing an interesting book rather than a ruthless killer.

John nodded. "Her arms were ripped off," he said as he took a drag.

"Bled to death, I expect," Beeman said, "Find anything of interest?"

"Well, like the others, no fingerprints," John replied, a stream of smoke accompanying his words, "I think you're right-it's a golem."

Beeman nodded excitedly, "Yes, of course! Any clay found at the scene?"

"Not that I saw or heard." John was not as enthusiastic about this as Beeman, but like the bowling alley owner, he did not show much shock or grief regarding the murders.

Beeman shifted nervously at John's reply. "Well… We have to be _certain_ it's a golem. Otherwise, we could make things much worse."

"Dragon's Breath works on everything, last time I checked," John hinted none-too subtly.

Beeman smiled slyly. "Dragon's Breath isn't as easy to come by these days, John. Takes a lot to get it…" Like John, Beeman wasn't hiding his intentions too well either.

John fixed Beeman with an irritated gaze before replying with gritting teeth, "Fine. I've still got some cash left over from that exorcism last week."

Beeman smiled. "Excellent. When are you going to look for it?"

"Tomorrow night, if you can get the Dragon's Breath," John said, inhaling his cig.

"If you get me the spending money." Beeman replied, very business-like.

"Right. I'll get it to you in the morning."

"It _is _morning."

"Whatever. I'll get it to you."

"Right, John," Beeman said as John turned his back to leave, "Oh, John, one last thing."

John turned back around, blowing out smoke. "What?" he asked.

"I think that belongs to _you,_ yes?" Beeman said, pointing.

John followed Beeman's gaze through a small window between the machinery to the blowing alleys, where a figure was lying down in one of the benches for players.

John sighed, recognizing the figure immediately.

"Came here looking for you a couple hours ago," Beeman explained, "I let him stay until you got here."

Chas's checked cabby hat was pulled over his eyes, which had been closed for the better part of the five hours he'd been in the bowling alley. His legs were propped up on the scoring table, and his arms were folded loosely over his chest.

"Chas," a familiar voice said as a hand shook his shoulder.

Chas started to stir, but barely.

"_Chas!_"

The boy started awake, sitting up, causing his hat to fall into his lap. "Huh? What?"

He looked to his left, to see Constantine glaring down at him .

"Oh, John! About time, man! I've been waiting here for you!" Chas said, taking his feet off of the scoring table.

"Chas, I told you: If I need a ride, I'll call you," John said tersely.

Chas looked a little hurt at the comment. He considered himself more than a chauffeur, an apprentice in fact. But that title had been more self-given than anything else.

"Just wanted to help, you know," Chas said somewhat sheepishly as he stood up.

"You want to help?"

Chas brightened. "Yeah!"

"Okay then," John said, turning to leave, "Be here with the car around midnight tomorrow." He looked over his shoulder to add snidely, "Unless that's too late for you."

Chas scowled. "No. I'll be here," he said, a little but of defiance in his tone.

"All right then," John said, and he turned back around.

As he walked away, leaving Chas, John had to smile a little. He had to toughen the kid up _somehow_ .

* * *

okay, well, that's all for this chapter. Too short? I hope not. Hee hee…can't wait to post the next chapter… it's awesome! 


	3. Enter the Monster

w00t! finally got to this chapter! There's a scene in here that I am very proud of…hope you guys enjoy.

Real quick definitions:

Golem: sort of like a zombie made out of clay, spawned from Jewish mythology and possibly the base for 'Frankenstien'.

Glastonbury Scripts: general name given to a series of manuscripts produced via automatic writing between 1907-1912, mostly regarding the restoration of the monastery Glastonbury Alley.

* * *

Chapter Two-Enter the Monster

Chas was indeed there for Constantine at midnight, and by then he'd licked his wounds. Still, he didn't talk to John right away. John either didn't notice or chose to ignore Chas's cold shoulder.

"Sin District," John directed from the back.

That perked Chas's interest, as John had expected. He turned around in the driver's seat.

"The Sin District? You mean, where those murders have been happening?" Chas asked interestedly, before correcting himself, "Well, the _recent_ ones, anyway."

"Just drive, Chas," John said dismissively.

Chas obeyed, but he couldn't stay quiet for very long. After about two minutes of quiet driving, Chas was bursting with questions. He knew John didn't like people asking questions, but he just couldn't help it.

"So, whaddaya think it is?" he asked curiously, looking at John via the rear-view mirror.

"Something evil," John said with purposeful vagueness.

"Well, yeah," Chas said, "But which something?"

John didn't answer, but turned his attention to lighting up a cigarette.

"Think it's a golem?" Chas said, venturing a guess.

John didn't let it slip that he was impressed that Chas guessed right first try, or that Chas had even come close to the right answer at all. "Why do you think it's a _golem_?" he asked as he took a drag.

"Well, no fingerprints at the scenes, right? But the people were beaten to death and they can't identify what weapon was used. They even found a large hand-shaped print in Sacramento, but still-no fingerprints, and no evidence of gloves."

"_So_?" John said, making it sound like Chas was completely off.

"So golem's don't have fingerprints, 'cause they're made out of clay," Chas said knowingly.

"Neither do half-breeds," John said, a fact that was obvious to him, and he wondered if it were so obvious to Chas.

"But bashing people's heads in ain't half-breed style," Chas said shrewdly."

John sent a stream of smoke into the car, his face suddenly very stony.

"Chas," he said very seriously, "Have you ever faced a half-breed?"

Chas's face fell. He said quietly, "No."

"Do you think you'd even survive if you did?"

"No," Chas admitted. While it was true that he had been reading up, he was smart enough to know his limitations. Hell, he couldn't even see the fuckers. Well he could-he just couldn't tell the difference between them and every other human.

"Right," John said, "So don't say you know their 'style'. This could _easily_ be a half-breed, just looking for a new high."

Chas nodded. But he couldn't help but notice that John hadn't denied the idea that the killer was a golem…

The taxi drove up into an abandoned parking garage, surrounded by crumbled apartment buildings that were missing parts of their once-proud walls. It looked just like the kind of place you'd find someone or something you didn't _want_ to find. Actually, that practically defined the entire Sin District itself.

John pulled the Dragon's Breath out from his coat. Beeman had come through...for the right price. But John was forgiving, but only because he'd heard many a rumor of the mystical product's imminent extinction.

Chas put the cab in park and was about to open his door to get out when John said, without even looking up, "Stay in the car, Chas."

Chas turned around, his face marked with disappointment. "Aw, come on, John," Chas said in that all-too-familiar tone, "Let me come."

John ignored Chas's plea and opened his own door. "Stay in the car, Chas," he repeated, his tone unwavering.

"Come on, John," Chas insisted, "What's the worst that could happen?"

"You could get your arms ripped out of your sockets and left to bleed to death in a dark alley," John replied without missing a beat. An image of Kristi Rolletti's body lying on the road flashed in his mind…his boot about to wade into one of the deep, red puddles of her blood…her unseeing eyes fixed at that certain angle, filled with sheer terror…her bloody arm being placed very professionally into a plastic evidence bag.

Chas almost swallowed his tongue at Constantine's quick, almost casual remark.

"Okay…I'll just stay here then…" he squeaked as John slammed the door behind him and walked out into the night.

* * *

Captain Sam Derden hung up the phone in his office. He was such a clichéd figure: he was wearing a work shirt, tie, and his holster as he sat in the squeaky chair behind his desk. He was lacking hair in the usual top of the head area, with a Caesar's crown of brown hair. He was rather thick in the mid-section, but he could kick your ass if he pleased, and he sure as hell let you know it.

"Well, I just got off the phone with the Sacramento P.D.," he said, his voice and face filled with faux-pleasantness.

His audience consisted of five men, all of whom were involved in the Sin District murders, all of them cops. Two of them were none other than Detectives Phelps and Herts. They looked like convicted men awaiting a ruthless judge's sentence. Another man, who looked about thirty, looked perfectly calm, his legs crossed casually. A shred of cheerfulness could even be found lurking in his face. His hair was a reddish brown, a little curly on the ends, especially hear his face.

"And you now what they told me?" Capt. Derden said, his faux-pleasantry practically terrifying the officers, "Why, they told me that they never sent anyone up here, and the only officer named 'Johns' in their district is an Asian rookie who was down with his partner arresting a drug dealer last." Capt. Derden stood. "So, you know what I want to know? I want to know WHO THE HELL WALKED ONTO OUR CRIME SCENE LAST NIGHT!"

The Captain's composure changed at the drop of a hat. His face was red with rage, and his voice was loud and threatening.

"I mean, jesus christ, you didn't even ask for his _badge_! How fucking stupid can you _be_?" he demanded, towering over Herts and Phelps.

Phelps looked like he was seeing his future fall to pieces before his eyes, but Herts kept calm, having dealt with Derden many times before.

"Sir, in our defense it was late and we were trying to get things cleaned up before the press arrived. We couldn't have that girl's body on the front page, now could we, sir?"

This didn't calm down Derden at all, but Herts hadn't expected it to. "Oh yeah, Herts? How's this for the front page: 'Unknown Man Walks Right Into Crime Scene Without Any Trouble From Police' 'Evidence In Entire Sin District Case All Questionable'. Goddamn it, you've compromised our entire case!"

"Not yet, sir," said the calm, reddish-brown haired man. His voice had a slight British tint to it.

Derden's fierce gaze looked to the man. "What the fuck are you talking about, Acton?"

"Well, sir," Acton said, completely unfazed, "Does anyone else know about this incident besides those in this room?"

Derden paused while the other officers in the room looked uncertain as Acton's proposal sunk in.

"Besides," Acton said, "According to Herts and Phelps, all he did was ask some questions. Probably didn't touch a thing. But even the DA will say the case is ruined…that is, if anyone _tells_ the DA."

Aside from Acton, no one else in the room seemed to know what to do. Yes, they had all been _thinking _about a code of silence, but none of them had had the guts to say it out loud.

"Well…" Derden said, as the color in his face turned back to normal and his tone switched to a quiet, uncertain tone, "I still wanna know who the guy was. Jesus, he may even be the killer himself."

"I doubt that, sir," Herts said. His tone was less confident then it had been a minute ago, "He was nowhere near the physique to…to commit the brutality that we've seen."

"A little old lady doesn't look like she could lift up a car," Derden pointed out, "But if her grandson's stuck under one, she will."

Herts shook his head. "Sir, I'm telling you. This guy couldn't have ripped the arms off of Kristi Rolletti."

"Sir," Acton said, "I believe I know who our 'visitor' was, based on Herts and Phelp's description."

All eyes went to Acton, then to Derden.

"Oh yeah?" Derden sneered, "Who?"

"John Constantine, sir. Also known as 'The Exorcist'," Acton replied, "He's an infamous figure in the underground. Involved in the occult, Satanism and all that."

Derden snorted. "And a scam artist to boot, I bet. Well, any idea what he was doing at our crime scene?"

"Well," Acton said, shrugging, "I suppose he felt that demonic forces were behind the murders, sir."

Derden looked at Acton carefully. "That's what you think, huh?"

Acton raised an eyebrow. "Demonic forces, sir? Certainly not."

"Yeah. Well…let's keep an eye on this Constantine guy," Derden said, sitting back in his chair, creating a loud **'squeak'**, "If he shows up within a mile of our crime scenes again, we'll arrest him as a suspect, ask him some questions. Maybe he knows the sick son-of-a-bitch that's been doing all of this."

* * *

Chas sat alone in the cab for about twenty minutes, his feet propped up on the dashboard and '_Occult Zine' _in hand. When he finished reading the article on the Glastonbury Scripts, he put down the magazine and checked his watch.

_What the hell is taking him?_ Chas thought to himself. And suddenly, he realized how clichéd that thought would be in a horror movie… In fact, so would being left alone at night…

Chas mentally slapped himself. What the fuck was he doing? Was he seriously going to have a panic attack, here in the fucking cab? No. Hell, if this was how he acted when he was _alone_, how could he possibly think he could tag along with John?

Chas shook his head like he could just shake the thoughts out of his head.

"I'm fine…" he said to the cab, "Everything's cool."

Then a thought struck him.

"Oh shit. Now I'm talking to myself."

He looked out the windows nervously, like he expected an army of ghouls to come charging out of the shadows at any minute.

"Something _always_ happens to the guy who's talking to himself."

So he waited, tensed up, almost _begging_ for something to happen, just so he could die knowing he was secure in his sanity.

But nothing happened. Not a single thing happened for a full five minutes. Chas relaxed, mentally slapping himself yet again.

"I'm such a frickin' paranoid," he announced to the cab's interior.

**BAM!**

The cab rocked with the impact, and Chas grabbed the wheel to keep from falling onto his side.

Really, really not wanting to, but being forced to, Chas turned his head to the left. His knuckles on the steering wheel were blaringly white. His throat was suddenly dry, and his eyes were as big as dinner plates.

You couldn't make out any details because it was still in the shadows, but what you _could_ see was its size, the sheer hulking mass of the thing. It was about seven and a half feet tall, and was the width about one and a half men. It looked like it weighed over 300 pounds. It was shaped like a man, or a gorilla. Or both.

Chas was frozen stiff, his mouth open, his eyes wide. This gigantic thing was only feet away, separated from him by mere glass and steel, which were likely to not be very challenging obstacles for the beast.

"Oh shit…" Chas said in terrfied awe as these things sunk in.

The thing let loose an inhuman roar of fury, then charged, colossal head first.

"Oh, _shit!_"

Chas was able to collect his thoughts quickly enough to react. He moved, mostly on his butt, to the passenger side of the cab. The thing and the cab made contact. The cab rocked again, and Chas thought it would turn on its side for sure, but the cab leaned back and was stable…for a few seconds.

The beast tried a new approach: just throwing the weight of its body against the cab over and over again Metal was bent and crushed, creating horrifying sounds that mingled with the beast's grunts, growls, and occasional roars. Glass cracked, preparing to shatter.

Chas wasn't even sitting up right. He had run into the passenger side door and had known he was trapped. Staying in the car was risky, but getting out of the car was death.

His legs were out in front of him, his right leg raised slightly for defense. His arms were up against the passenger door, his fingers gripping the arm rest.

The beast continued to ram against the door, and with every new hit, the window threatened to shatter and allow the beast entry.

Chas's mind raced. He had to defend himself…but with what? He had nothing!

John's words floated to the surface of his mind, haunting him: "…_get your arms ripped out of your sockets and left to bleed to death in a dark alley…"_

Damn it-he needed Constantine. _He _was the one with the Dragon's Breath, _he_ was the one who had made Chas drive him out here in the first place.

A small, cruel voice in Chas's mind replied to these complaints: _You wanted to come, you wanted to get into this…So now what, Apprentice?_

Chas gritted his teeth as the beast hit the cab again. The windows was thoroughly cracked, and it was only a matter of time before it shattered… Chas had to do something now.

Chas's gaze fell on the steering wheel…and he realized how close his feet were to it, particularly his right foot. He then looked to the beast as it let loose another roar of rage. It was going to charge again and the window would be gone. Now was his only chance…

As the beast charged, Chas's right leg shot out, but a little too late. As his right foot was about to reach the wheel, the beast hit the cab and the glass shattered. A rush of the cool outside air hit Chas in the face, but so did a horrible smell…something that smelled of…_rotting flesh_.

Chas yelled in pain as glass cut into his leg. The beast snarled as its massive, gray arm reached in through the broken window. The arm looked vaguely human, at least by shape. The hand, two times that of a normal human's, reached out for Chas. But Chas's foot had hit the target: the horn. The car horn blared out into the night, a trumpet from heaven to Chas.

The beast howled, as if in pain. The arm disappeared and Chas closed his eye as, muffled from the car horn, he heard the gigantic beast retreat. He didn't see where the creature went and he didn't want to.

Chas leaned back against the car door and his arms relaxed. But he kept his foot on the horn, letting it scream into the night. That is, until it was cut short when the car door suddenly disappeared and he fell back. His upper torso was hanging out of the car door. Blood rushed to his head, but the cool air was caressing his face, as if to assure him the nightmare was over.

He looked up-well, technically, down-and saw an angry face that Chas had never been happier to see.

"Hi, John," he said with a grateful smile that made him look even more foolish than he already did.

* * *

Yes! It's done! whoohoo! did you guys like it? I know it's long, but it's worth it, right? 


	4. The Exorcist and the Kid

yeah. sorry about taking so long in between new chapts guys. school and shit, you know?

Okay, uh, don't know how this is gonna be. not a lot of action now, but I'll try and work some in. Glad to have all the great reviews (happy face)

* * *

Chapter Three- **The Exorcist and The Kid**

By the orange light of a street lamp, Chas used his _Occult Zine_ to brush the remaining glass from the cab. He'd given John a basic idea of what had happened back at the parking garage, but had refused to answer any questions until he'd driven the two of them a mile out of the Sin District, going 80 and ignoring all red lights. John hadn't been happy about any of these conditions, especially the driving part, and he'd let Chas know it. At the moment, he was leaning against the hood of the car, lighting up a cigarette.

Chas closed the door and surveyed the damage to the car door itself. He sat down on the curb and was face-to-face with the crushed metal. It was not a pretty sight. Chas's leg was still bleeding from the glass, but he didn't seem to care or even notice. His face was one of pain, but it was for the cab-and the money it would take to fix it. His boss probably wouldn't be too angry about it though; John had exorcised the man's son and had thus secured transportation and an acceptable way for Chas to be involved.

"I don't believe this man," Chas groaned, "This sucks. I mean, I had this thing cleaned up and everything. Was a pretty decent vehicle. Maybe not a chick magnet, but still-"

"What'd it look like?" John asked abruptly as he took a drag.

"Well, obviously it wasn't crushed like this-"

"The _monster_, Chas," John replied irritably.

Chas's already white pallor became even paler, taking on a yellowish tinge in the orange light.

"Big." was the only word he managed to say at first.

John gave an irritated sigh, smoke accompanying it. "How big?"

Chas swallowed. "I dunno. Bigger than 7 feet. Maybe eight. Looked like it weighed over 300 pounds."

John gave a nod and looked over at the kid.

"Why'd it attack you?" His voice was on the edge of suspicious, almost at pissed. Wouldn't surprise him if Chas had disobeyed him and had ventured too far.

Chas shrugged. "I was just sitting in the cab," he answered simply, though a little defensively. He knew what John was thinking. "Just sitting there, when the cab shook. Then I looked over and saw it and it growled at…" Chas's voice trailed off as his eyes suddenly got very wide. He turned to John. "It wasn't a golem! It couldn't have been, John!"

John raised an eyebrow. "How so?" he asked, taking another drag.

"Golem's can't make noise, cause they're just made out of clay! And this thing made a hell of a lot of noise, John. Sounded like the T-Rex in 'Jurassic Park' put in surround-sound."

John paused for a minute, mulling over Chas's input. True, from what Beeman had briefed him on, golem's could not, or at least did not typically, make noise, and they definitely didn't make as much as Chas was describing. But no way in hell would John let Chas know how big of a break in the 'case' he'd made.

"So what was it?" he asked, more because he knew that Chas didn't have a clue than actually needing his advice.

Chas shrugged. "Got me. Maybe a ha-" He caught the word 'half-breed' and stuffed it back down his throat. After the previous conversation with John, Chas didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting error. So instead, he cleared his throat and made an observation: "Looked like that thing from 'Goonies'."

John gave Chas a look.

"What? What's wrong with 'Goonies'?"

John only shook his head as he walked around to the other side of the cab.

"Come on," he said, "Better make sure you don't need stitches."

For the first time since the attack, Chas noticed his leg. He looked down at his pant leg, the denim torn up and stained with his blood.

"Aw…_shit._"

Chas opened the car door with the greatest of care, half expecting-and not unwisely-that the door would just fall off and shatter into 1,000 pieces. He gingerly climbed into the car-his leg's pain now fully realized and refusing to be ignored again. Suddenly, his left foot stepped on something near the brake.

"What's…"

He reached down and felt something cool and smooth.

"What's what?" John asked form the back.

Chas found himself looking at a pendant or charm of some sort. It was carved out of white stone and in the shape of an octagon and was big enough to fit comfortably in his hand. Images were carved on it, which he made out by holding the pendant closer to the window, where the orange streetlight let him make out the carvings more clearly. There was a crescent moon in the center, and wings were spread out from it, stretching to the edge of the octagon's edge. At the bottom, a snake had wrapped itself around an egg. Chas knew that the pendant was full of some sort of symbolism, but he couldn't place any of it. A hole had been drilled in the top center of the pendant, a broken black string threaded through it.

"What's that?" John asked, seeing the pendant.

"I dunno," Chas said, holding up the pendant for John to see, "Not mine."

John reached over and took the pendant from Chas. He looked at it carefully. The winged moon was very familiar to him, as his widened eyes revealed. But then his brow furrowed. His finger-seemingly of its own accord-traced the snake wrapped around the egg.

"Hey, maybe it's Bigfoot's," Chas suggested, his voice pulling John out of thoughts and memories.

He looked up at Chas. "Did you see him drop it?"

Chas shook his curly head. "I was kind of distracted, John," he said candidly.

John examined the broken string. He had to be sure that this had come from the monster. His eyes traveled to the broken window, jagged pieces of glass sticking up like a demon's teeth.

"Any black threads on the window?" he asked Chas.

Chas turned around and checked out the remains of the window. For a moment, his mind went flying back to his moments in the car when he was attacked. The giant beast reaching in for him… The sound of his own heart pounding in his ears… The climatic moment when the glass shattered, the triumph of feeling the steering wheel under his foot… Now that he actually thought about it, he'd done pretty damn well for himself. Sure, he'd gotten cut up-another wave of sharp pain came across, like it knew he was thinking about it-but he'd survived, hadn't he? He'd used his head, hadn't panicked… And for a fleeting moment, he wondered why John hadn't said anything, but then he almost slapped himself across the face. The Great John Constantine didn't do stuff like that. No, it wasn't his style at all. Chas smiled to himself. It was all right though; John was cool, even if he was a dick.

"Chas, find anything?"

The voice brought Chas back to earth. His eyes came back to focus and, as if by magic, landed on five black threads that were stuck on the broken glass.

"Yeah," he said with a triumphant tone.

He held them up for John to see.

John nodded. "Okay," he pocketed the pendant. He craned his head to catch a glimpse of a street sign, achieved his goal, and determined that he was close enough to his destination to walk.

To Chas, he said "Get yourself checked out at the hospital. Then go home. I'll call." He opened his car door as Chas sat there, confused at the sudden change of pace.

"What? Huh? Where're you going?" he asked.

"The club," John said, readying himself for the argument that he was certain would ensue.

"Oh. Okay," Chas replied, turning back around.

John opened his mouth to argue at the response he'd imagined would come out of Chas's mouth, but caught himself, dumbstruck. He and Chas usually talked about 2 things: that Chas could NOT be present at exorcisms, and that Chas could NOT go into the club. Normally, one would call these 'arguments', but usually when two people argue, there's a chance of two different outcomes. But with Chas and John, John always had, always did, and always would win.

But Chas didn't even seem the slightest bit interested in going tonight. Well, the kid had had a rough night. Inwardly, John smiled, but on the outside, he kept the same composure.

"Right. See ya, Chas," he said as he shut the door.

Chas gave a two fingered solute and drove off, leaving John by the side of the road.

* * *

well, that's all for this chapt. too short? sorry. more soon. 


	5. Seeing Midnite

okay, we need a lot of explanations here.

Lilith is supposedly the first woman before Eve. She refused to be submissive to Adam, and was therefore kicked out of heaven. I've added some relish here to make her sound more like the villain than the victim. Plus, according to legend, she ended up having a fling with the Devil anyway. In this particular story, I'm sticking with that idea, and adding some more of my own legend.

The moon is her symbol and she's supposed to have wings, so I combined the two to make a symbol for her.

The story of Lilith's amulet is semi-true. The stuff on the net isn't very clear about it, so I kind of tweaked the mythology to make more sense for the story.

* * *

**Chapter Four-Seeing Midnite**

Constantine walked hurriedly down the steps and into the red lit lobby. The big biker-type bouncer was there, guarding the ropes with a pack of Zenner cards in hand. John didn't even pause-the guy knew him well enough by now.

"A bear in between two stars," He said briskly as he went by. Per usual, he was right.

The club music, also per usual, was at eardrum obliterating level. And the lights were seizure-inducing to boot.

Constantine paused for a moment in the doorway, overlooking the crowd. Half-breeds, mostly demonic, danced in shadow and light. If you just walked into the scene though, you'd never guess the clubbers' true species. They look normal…unless they let you see their red and green eyes. Some, mostly the ones who were lounging off to the side, glared at Constantine with their enchanting eyes. They knew him; he had taken many of their brethren.

But when he finally started moving through the club, they didn't make a move. They only glared.

Midnite was lounging in his backroom, feet propped up on a desk while he read the paper. The front page hosted a color photo of a crime scene-the one John Constantine had dropped in on the other night-and in the bottom right was a smaller picture, one of Kristi Rolleti, prior to her death. 'BRUTAL SIN DISTRICT MURDERER KILLS AGAIN' bold, black letters announced. The witch doctor didn't look up when Constantine, who made no attempt to be quiet of not disturb anyone, entered.

"'Bout time you came by," Midnite said as Constantine sat down in a near by chair, "What took ya? Thought you'd be here after that first girl was killed."

"Had to make sure it was a half-breed," John replied coolly.

Midnite looked over his newspaper at the demon fighter. "What tipped you off?" he asked cynically as he pushed the front page over to John. A smaller column near the blaring headline read: 'Killer Ripped Arms Off of Latest Victim'.

John made no remark regarding Midnite's statement. Instead, he asked, "You hear anything about what's been going on?"

Midnite shook his head. "No one knows what's going on. Some are pissed, cause the murders are attracting too much attention. Others-most of whom you're already acquainted with-"

"Balthazar," John said in a low growl.

"Now I didn't say that," Midnite said in half-denial. John got pissed when Midnite defended the bastard. He knew Balthazar was a client of Midnite's, "But anyway, some are kind of relishing it, you know? After all, hasn't been much interesting activity in the Sin District for-"

"You call it interesting?" John asked as he took a drag. He didn't say it accusingly, more like conversational interest.

Midnite shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

John blew out some smoke-in a rare show of courtesy, away from Midnite's face. Then he took out the pendant from his pocket and put it on the table.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked.

Midnite raised an eyebrow at the pendant. "Why don't you ask Beeman? More his line of work anyhow."

"Beeman's raised his price," John said as he took out a cigarette and lighter in a practiced motion.

"Rough economy these days," Midnite replied.

"Yeah, so I've heard," John said, choosing to ignore Midnite's hint, "Now what can you tell me about this?"

Midnite picked it up and examined the carvings. His eyes caught the winged moon and his gaze moved to John with an odd look in them. John shot him a threatening look, and the witch doctor went back to the rest of the pendant.

When Midnite didn't say much for a while, John said, "Look, just tell me who it might belong to."

Midnite looked at him skeptically. "That might prove difficult."

"You've got sources," John replied tersely as he inhaled more tobacco.

"That's not what I meant," Midnite replied, a little annoyed.

Constantine fixed him with a look of confusion. "What d'you mean?" he asked.

Midnite held up the pendant by the broken black string. "The Hebrew's probably been scratched off, but the symbols are plain as day otherwise."

"Hebrew?"

"This is an imitation piece," Midnite paused for a moment, cautious of finishing his sentence, "…of Lilith's amulet."

Constantine paused. The one name he hadn't wanted to hear…

Midnite went on, "They got kind of popular in the 60s and 70s-the hippy and feminist movements and all that shit. Looked just like this one."

"All right," John said, straightening "What's it mean?"

Midnite gave John a look that he couldn't decipher. The witch doctor went on, "Well, you know the beginning of Lilith's story: first woman created, out of dust just like Adam. But she wanted to be better than Adam-"

"I know that already," John said in a low voice as he took a drag.

"Right," Midnite said in a tone that John didn't really like, "Well, since Lilith was such a bitch, you-know-who creates Eve. Adam's more than happy to have just about anyone other than Lilith. This makes Lilith even more pissed off. So, she says she'll kill every one of Adam and Eve's children. But three angels: Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof, basically kick her out of Eden and therefore damning her for eternity. Still, even after that Lilith says she'll kill Adam and Eve's children.

"So then she's cursed. Lilith can kill Adam and Eve's children, unless they're protected by an amulet baring the names of the three angels that kicked her out of heaven. In addition to that, Lilith is cursed to kill her _own_ human children, unless they too have an amulet baring the names of the three angels."

"Nice story," John said curtly, "But what does it have to do with that?" He gestured to the pendant.

"Well, the winged moon, as you know," Midnite added the 'as you know' with an impertinent tone, "is Lilith's symbol. The snake around the egg represents corrupted birth. So this amulet was made to protect Lilith's half-breed children."

John nodded. "Well, where's the Hebrew?" he asked. He'd looked over the amulet himself-no sign of any writing.

Midnite handed the amulet back over to John. "Probably got rubbed off over the years-like I said, things were popular in the 60s. You know, time's turned Lilith into a feminist icon. Whaddaya think of that, John?"

John glared at him, then went back to the amulet. "So there's no Hebrew here…"

Midnite nodded. "But it had to have been at one time. Amulet's useless without the three angels' names."

"Maybe that's the idea," Constantine said quietly.

* * *

that's all for this chapt. I know they've been short lately, but don't sweat it. the next one should be pretty long. thanks for all the reviews guys!  



	6. Hell Hath No Fury

yess! 10,000+ words!

okay, more explanations:

succubus (plural form 'succubi') and incubus (plural form incubi) sort of like sirens. Succubi are female, incubi are male. They are an unearthly beauty and are basically physical forms of lust (a deadly sin).

I'll be hinting at a little back-story I made upin volving John and a succubus. I did in the previous chapter too. I may write it later, I might not. Oh well.

* * *

Chapter Five-**Hell Hath No Fury…**

_**'Don't be aroused by my confession,**_

_**Unless you don't give a good Goddamn about redemption**_

_**I know Christ is comin'; so am I**_

_**and you would too if the sexy devil caught your eye**_

_**She'll suck ya dry**_

_**And still you'll cry to be back in her bosom**_

_**To do it again**_

_**She'll make you weak**_

_**And mourn and cry to be back in her bosom**_

_**To do it again**_

_**Pray till I go blind**_

_**Pray cause nobody ever survives**_

_**Prayin' to stay in your arms just till I die a little longer**_

_**Saviors and saints, devils and demons alike: **_

_**She'll eat you alive'**_

_**

* * *

**_

'Eden' was printed in castellar font, standing out against the simple black-tinted glass in polite, soft white neon. The box-shaped building itself was three floors high. Aside from the title, the building from the outside was completely bare, save for the front door, which was also very simple. There was a small inlet, long enough to squeeze in three average people, wide enough for one and a half; with a plain steel gray door in the middle of it, and a small window, which at the moment had its black shutter closed, in the top middle of that. A small lone fluorescent light guided visitors to the entrance, an air of ominous about it.

John stood on the sidewalk, facing the building like an old foe. Well, in many ways it was.

_Never thought I'd fucking end up here again,_ he thought to himself as he let a stream of smoke escape his mouth, before realizing that that was a lie, an outright filthy lie. He'd _definitely_ thought about coming back here-many times, more than he even realized. Thing was, he'd never actually gone through with it, even the times when he was far from sober. He'd come up with what he'd considered at the time(s) very good reasons to come back, but he'd always woken up the next day with a bad headache and a sounder mind. Fairly ironic that the first time he had to actually physically step inside, he knew better. But there was no way around it; what he needed to know could only be found here and no other place on the planet, or in heaven or in hell, only in Eden.

Finally, he worked up the nerve and walked up to the door. He could hear the music that was playing on the inside. He couldn't place the band (who had time for pop culture in his line of work?) but the electric guitar and bass line seemed vaguely familiar. He pounded on the door-mostly because he wasn't sure if anyone could hear hi on the other side, what with the music being so loud. He figured he'd wait five minutes. If no one opened the door, he'd consider it a 'sign' and go home. That decision meant something-John Constantine did NOT believe in 'signs'.

"Be careful, John," said the voice behind him.

John didn't bother to turn around-he knew Gabriel was standing behind him, with that irritating look on his-her face.

"Angel's don't belong in a place like this," he sneered over his shoulder.

"Just here as a reminder, John," the angel said.

Now John turned. Gabriel was dressed in the usual androgynous clothes, this time sporting a white silk shirt that flattered the golden curls that hung only a few inches above the shoulders, a pink tie, and a blue pinstripe suit.

"I don't need-" John began, but Gabriel cut him off, something the angel only did when it was either in a hurry or not in the mood for John.

"You cannot be tempted, John," Gabriel said, looking seriously at John, and Constantine noticed that the angel was genuinely concerned-not that he gave a shit, "Not again. And especially not now."

"Then maybe you can save some time and just tell me what's killing things in the Sin District so I can deport its ass and call it a day," John said irritably. It was not his best retort, but his ego was getting considerably deflated, the way things were going, because for once Gabriel was right and Constantine grudgingly knew it.

Gabriel's familiar annoying look came across its face. "Oh, John," the angel said in that annoying and familiar tone, "Where's the fun in that?"

John glared at the half-breed. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he heard the black shutter open up from behind him.

He turned around to see a pair of red eyes glaring at him. Before he could say anything, he felt a warm hand slide into his, and a feeling of cold metal.

"It'll let you see clearly," the angel whispered in his ear. John was rather disgusted that the angel was so close to him, but before he could fully realize it, the angel was gone.

The doorman seemed rather impatient. "What do you want, exorcist?" he barked, saying the last like a curse.

John turned. "I need to see Lilith," he said briskly, as he straightened, trying to appear formidable.

The doorman snorted. "Gimme a reason to let you," he said snidely.

"Because if you don't," John said with gritted teeth, "I'll make you _wish_ you were back in hell."

The doorman didn't seem all that awed by John's threat, though he did seem insulted. "Oh yeah, you piece of shit? I-"

He stopped suddenly, his attention turned to something off to his left. There was an exchange of words between the doorman and someone else in a language John didn't understand. Finally, the doorman glared back at John, though there was defeat that John was glad to see. The doorman closed the shutter and the door opened for Constantine.

Before stepping in, John looked at what Gabriel had slipped to him. It was a rusted metal pendant in the shape of a circle, Latin written on the circle: 'Adiuro Te Angelus Iniquitatis, Serpens Antiquus…Exeas Sine Lesione Corporis Et Anime. Data Est Enim Tibi Potestas Temptandi Et Non Possideni'. John glared at the words. He knew them all right, and his pride was somewhat damaged by Gabriel's gesture.

He sighed, put the rusted metal chain around his neck, and stepped into the room. It was much like Midnite's club, though the lights weren't so bad. There were some strobe lights, but they weren't everywhere. The only places really lit up were the stages, where girls danced on poles and took their clothes off, playing to the human male crowd. There were only three girls out of the seven performing that were humans, as John saw. The other four were all succubi. You could tell by the way their audience reacted to them: like they'd never seen a woman before. The Succubi and Incubi were able to cast spells of attraction of humans, making their victims their slaves without even knowing it. The succubi and incubi were also unique among the half-breeds: they didn't have ugly true forms. They were in their true form just as beautiful and human-like as they were in their illusions. That made them dangerous seducers. John knew that first hand.

John took in the girls dancing-he was human after all. He noted that the succubi had marks similar to that of the amulet tattooed on them: one had one on her shoulder, another had it on her thigh, another had it on her hip, and the prettiest (and apparently least modest out of the four) had the mark tattooed on her breast.

The doorman walked past Constantine-a big half-breed about six and a half feet tall, definitely not the type to mess with. John wondered why the guy had let him in, when his Good Samaritan wrapped a pale arm around his. He looked down to see a succubus with long blonde hair and pale skin looking up at him with green eyes. She was dressed in a black corset-like top that let the crests of her lovely breasts be fully realized and a short black leather skirt. She had a great figure, despite being a little short, and a nice face (aside from the glowing green eyes). John was instinctively attracted to her, but he knew better. Internally, he grudgingly thanked Gabriel for the amulet-had it not been for it, he just might have forgotten the reason he'd come to Eden in the first place.

"I'm Jodie," she said in a whispery voice that John heard despite the loud music.

"Where's Lilith?" he asked, getting down to business. He wasn't going to be toyed with, especially not after Gabriel's drop-in.

Jodie looked disappointed. "We can find her later," she said soothingly, "Why don't you relax…?"

She reached up to caress his face, but John caught her wrist roughly.

"I am _not_ in the mood," he growled, "_Where_ is she?"

Jodie looked considerably annoyed as she took her hand back. She eyed the amulet around John's neck and let out a low hiss of offense

"Fine. Follow me," she said irritably, the sexy voice abruptly gone.

She turned on her heel and started toward the back. John followed her closely, but only so that she didn't try to ditch him.

Jodie led him to the back, where on one stage two succubi danced to the tune of 'Rebel Yell'. John ignored them and followed Jodie passed an 'Employees Only' rope. Behind the stage, near the speakers, was an elevator.

Jodie gave a sarcastic sweeping of the hand to the elevator.

"Third floor, asshole," she said snappishly as she walked past him and back tracked the way the two of them had come.

John watched her leave and couldn't help but check out her ass, which fit nicely in the leather skirt. He turned back to the elevator doors once Jodie was lost in the shadows. He pressed the round button and the elevator doors slide open, any sound they made in the process lost as Billy Idol's voice launched into the second verse.

The interior was lined with red satin, cushioned with goose-feathers. The floor was soft red velvet and John did NOT want to think about where the stains on it had come from. He just hit the 3 button and the elevator doors closed.

The doors opened a few minutes later and John Constantine stepped into a room, immediately after finding himself surrounded. The room, like the elevator, was carpeted with red velvet. The walls were beautiful mahogany, with carvings of topless beauties (succubi, probably) in the corners. On soft, scarlet couches near the walls, succubi and incubi alike lounged, some drinking wine, some eating fruit from the porcelain bowls on wonderfully carved wood tables, and others touching and kissing each other. They paid little notice to Constantine as he entered, but they outnumbered him dramatically.

John kept to himself as he ventured further. There were grand doors on the opposite side of the room, guarded by two unusually large incubi. Still, despite their size, the two demons had a certain beauty about them. As John walked towards the doors, succubi and incubi did start to gaze curiously at him with green eyes. Some looked apprehensive. Others looked intrigued. One such succubus purposely ate a peach seductively, letting its sweet juice travel down her neck to her breasts, which were barely concealed by her low-cut red dress, but John ignored her.

He came up to the grand doors, and the two guarding incubi, who seemed indifferent toward him.

"I need to see Lilith," he said forcefully.

The incubi exchanged looks.

"She's busy," said the one on the right. He had long, curly brown hair.

"I don't care," John retorted.

With that, John moved past the two incubi and threw the doors open. He wasn't worried about the guards-the incubi and succubi were the weakest half-breeds in terms of strength. Most of their power was in creating an air of lust and temptation.

The room he walked into was large-but lacking in most forms of furniture. The floor was black marble. In the center back of the room, there was a grand canopy bed-black satin sheets, black silk curtains. Behind that, there was a large fireplace.

At present, the fireplace was roaring, but that wasn't the only source of heat in the room.

The curtains were drawn, but John could make out enough from the silhouettes: two people were lying on the bed, still clothed. A woman was straddling a man. The two of them were kissing heavily, though, it looked like the woman was the one running things.

The woman apparently noticed that she'd been interrupted, because she suddenly sat up, though the man reached for her, still wanting more. The woman snapped her fingers.

Three succubi, all in red dresses and beautiful pale skin, two blondes one with raven hair, came from the next room, flying gracefully past John and over to the bed. They parted the curtains enough for two of them to remove the man. He wasn't that good looking and looked in his late forties, but his ugly maroon shirt (which, like his thinning hair, was rather mussed from what he'd been doing with the woman) indicated a good financial status. He seemed in a sort of daze as the two succubi-one of the blondes and the one with raven hair-led him out of the room.

The other succubi stood dutifully by the curtains as-from what John could tell from the silhouette-the woman fixed herself up for her audience. Finally, the blonde extended a graceful hand and helped her mistress off of the bed.

She had tanned brown skin. Her hair was black and straight, hanging down to her shoulders. But it was the dress that caught your eye. It was black and skin-tight. The top modestly tried to hide her gorgeous breasts. It completely exposed her abdomen and back, connecting to the skirt from the side. The skirt was cut on both sides, and cut all the way up to her thighs. In essence, the dress was more of an illusion of clothing, and if you paid close attention to the structure, you noticed that the only thing holding up the dress was the flimsy ribbon around her neck.

Her grey eyes looked directly into Constantine's as she approached. He was instinctively attracted, but there were two things about her that kept him from full attraction. There was a reason the back of the dress didn't cover her back and hung low, exposing a little of her buttocks. She had wings. Big, black reptilian wings, about four feet high. She also had a whip-like black tail that, at present, was curling and twitching like a cat's.

This was Lilith, Queen and Mother of the Succubi and Incubi. She was the full embodiment of lust even with the wings, which came off more elegant than mutated, and the tail, which had a certain sex appeal of its own.

"John Constantine," she said to him, a playful smile on her red lips, "I can't tell you how badly I've been wanting to meet you, boy."

* * *

okay. well, I'm going on vacation for a while-don't expect new chapts for about a week, guys.

the song at the beginning is from Puscifer ('Rev: 22:20') and I think it fits Lilith perfectly.

translation of the pendant Gabriel gave John: (I adjure you, angel of iniquity, ancient serpent…to leave without harm to body or soul. For you are given the power of tempting and not of possessing)


	7. Remembering Temptation

sorry I took so long, guys! wow, thanks for the reviews! I am so happy that I've got a fan base…

hope my update didn't sound…whiny. It was really hypocritical of me cause I hate authors who refuse work when they're not reviewed.

anyway… this chapter may be bad too…sorry.

again, I'm referring to John's past relationship with a succubus named Desdemona (Des for short). I'll write that story later, I guess.

* * *

**Chapter 6**-**Remembering Temptation**

"Hope I wasn't interrupting," John said, glancing in the directions the two succubi had taken the man in the maroon shirt.

"Just another client," Lilith replied briskly, "Now…" John felt Lilith's tail wrap itself fondly around his leg, "…what can I do for you, John Constantine?"

John coldly took a few steps back, letting the tail unravel itself. "What do you know about the Sin District?" he asked, very businesslike.

Lilith didn't seem at all perturbed from his cold shoulder. She smiled. "The Sin District? That place is filthy," she gave a laugh behind her closed red lips, "Even for me."

"Who's been butchering people down there?" John demanded.

Lilith raised an eyebrow. "How should I know?"

John reached into his pocket and held up the pendant by the string. "I've got a feeling you know."

Lilith took a step closer-closer than John was comfortable, and she knew it-and reached out, taking the stone in her hand. She didn't look at it long, undoubtedly because she knew it was her mark.

"The killer dropped it. Which means you're related," John said solemnly.

Lilith looked up at him. Her grey eyes had suddenly become very cold. But still, she smiled. She took a few steps back, to let John see all of her.

"I look pretty good for a mother of thousands, don't I?" she asked with poise.

John rolled his eyes.

"And since I watch over all of my children," Lilith continued with disdain in her tone, approaching him again, "I must know this one?"

"When you say 'watch over', it's not from just motherly love, is it?" John said taking back the amulet, "Because, if they don't have this on them,"-Lilith pulled back from him, her wings arching-"You kill them, right?"

Lilith glared at him, rage burning in her eyes. But then they softened to a devious shine. She smiled like the cat that's caught a goldfish.

"You act so high and mighty, boy?" she said quietly, "You're as damned as I."

She stepped close to him again. This time her black tail squeezed around John's waist. He tried to step away again, but this time Lilith's grip was surprisingly firm. She was right up to him now; he could feel her body against his.

John moved away, but Lilith reached out and grabbed Gabriel's amulet. Somehow, that let some of her power slip past the amulet's spell. John suddenly felt Lilith's own spell begin to come over him…

"I don't have time for this," John growled, trying to break free from both Lilith's physical and mental hold over him.

"Oh, there's always time with me," she said, breathing into his ear, "One of the perks of immortal life…"

John eyed her tail, moving up to her black wings, which were beginning to close over him. "That and the lovely accessories," he remarked.

He wanted to shove her away…but she was so pretty…what? no, she was evil…no he couldn't possibly…stop…

Lilith smirked up into his dark eyes.

"You know the only difference between us, boy?" she asked, as she wrapped her arms around him.

They were close now…too close.

Had to get away from her…can't fall to…she was beautiful…temptation…stop stop stop…the killings…who cared? things were safe here….but the monster, the amulet…it was her amulet good you gave it back…no no no not again….Desdemona…

Lilith seemed to both feel John's mental struggle…and enjoy it. She smiled up at him.

"_I_ don't squirm," she continued, whispering into his ear, "I just…relax."

And with that, she moved to kiss him, parting her lips slightly. He opened his mouth wide, but it was to yell.

"STOP!"

He shoved her away. Lilith went falling to the floor, onto her side with a loud wham from her hip hitting the marble. She let out a cry-she'd landed painfully on her tail.

John stood there, panting. It wasn't really the anger at what Lilith had attempted to do that had given him the strength to break past her spell, but it was the pain from his memories of Desdemona and his self-hate for falling so easily to her. He'd sworn back then, when it'd all been over, that he'd never fall like that again. Never look like a fool again, never risk damnation so weakly ever again.

Lilith looked up at him. She'd bit her lip open in the fall and blood was rimming them. Her eyes weren't hateful, not fearful but…intrigued. She licked the blood from her lip.

"Tell me who the killer is," John said calmly. Like he'd never shoved her to the ground, like she'd never gotten so close, so close to pulling him into her dark web.

Lilith paused, looking at him from head to foot, as if to finally access his worthiness.

Finally, she said, "I'll tell you this much, boy. The girls that have been killed. They were 'employees' of Balthazar. That's his realm."

John's eyes widened. Then a cruel smirk came over his face. Maybe he could finally deport the bastard.

He turned to leave, but Lilith's voice wafted over his shoulder and into his ear: "You miss her, don't you, boy? Hmm… Miss her touch… I wonder…had it been her instead of me, would you have kissed _her_?"

She laughed softly as he swung open the doors and left her there, all alone.

* * *

The red lounge was deserted. John didn't bother to wonder where Lilith's children had all gone. He just wanted to get the hell out of here.

* * *

Downstairs, in the strip-club, no succubi approached him. But the place seemed louder than before, the lights bothersome. The all-male crowd seemed rowdier and the dancers seemed easier (if that were possible). 

John made his way to the exit as fast as he could. In his hurry, he pushed past some figure in a dark brown coat, but didn't pause to apologize.

The figure waited until John had gone past before turning around to watch him go.

It was Charles Acton. He watched John with a look of keen interest for a moment.

John paused in mid-step. He felt something… He whirled around, but in the dark he didn't see Acton making his own way to the elevator.

* * *

A fire burned heartily in a grand fireplace with a mahogany frame. A man in a green pinstriped suit stood before the flames, watching them with both fascination and scorn, as if they reminded him of something nasty. His finger tapped the glass of bourbon in his hand.

There was the sound of a door opening. The man-Balthazar-turned at the sound to see Charles Acton walking towards him from the now open wooden door to the lavish penthouse living room.

"Well?" Balathazar asked. But his voice, despite the usual gruffness, was not the typical confident, smug tone his used when speaking to, say, John Constantine. Instead, it was casual…and maybe even a little submissive.

"Lilith's informed him of your business undertakings," Acton replied. His voice was quite confident, but not smug. Just in control.

Balthazar growled. "Fucking bitch. Why?"

Acton smiled curtly. "She has a certain taste in partners. You don't fit the bill."

Balthazar raised an eyebrow. "What, and the exorcist bastard does?"

Acton paused, as if unsure to tell Balthazar more. Instead, he walked over to a round wooden table, on which lay a bottle of bourbon and a glass, and poured himself one.

"He'll come here. But not tonight," Acton stated as he lifted the glass to his lips.

Balthazar walked over to him. "Why?"

Acton swallowed down some bourbon before replying in a tone that held a strange smugness. "He was a bit…shaken from his visit with Lilith."

Balthazar let out a harsh laugh. "_Lilith_? What hap-"

He was caught off by a look Acton threw him.

When Balthazar fell silent, Acton said to him, "I'll tell you what you need to know and nothing more, Balthazar. Are we clear?"

Balthazar paused for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Yeah. We're clear."

"Excellent."


	8. Books, Coffee, and Death

hey, I'm back! Sry about the wait guys-I was grounded (again…) But here's this chapt. Things are starting to get a little more mysterious.

More Desdemona and John mentioned here, but very briefly.

No, I am NOT going to explain who the mentioned 'Gomory' is in this chapt, cause that's part of the mystery (hahahahahahahahahahaha!)

* * *

Chapter 7-**Books, Coffee, and Death**

Acton helped himself to a dark-blue velvet couch that had a cherry wood frame. He set his glass down on the small table next to him. Balthazar sat on a white chair-also with a cherry wood frame-across from Acton. Even though it was Balthazar's dwelling, Acton sat back in the chair with his legs crossed as if he owned the place.

"When Constantine arrives," he said in a business-like manner, "don't mention me. If I feel it necessary, I'll intervene. But, and I believe you'll agree, my position in the police department should remain unspoken."

"What do I tell him?" Balthazar asked as he took out a cigar and lighter. It was rather interesting that John Constantine and Balthazar, enemies on almost every circumstance, both shared a love (need) for nicotine.

Acton answered without skipping a beat, like he'd just been waiting for the question to be asked, "Tell the exorcist about and where to find our dear Gomory." He added as an after thought, "And tell him where to find that…embarrassment."

Balthazar looked furious as he looked up from the orange glow of his cigar. "_What?_"

Despite Balthazar's tone, Acton didn't react at all, save for taking his drink up again.

"This is o_ur_ concern!" Balthazar continued in a rage, "_Not_ the exorcist's!

Acton replied without looking up from his drink in a deadly cold tone, "Are you questioning me, Balthazar?"

Balthazar faltered-a rare gesture from the half-demon-and replied in a calmer tone, "I'm only-"

Acton didn't let Balthazar try to recover himself. "You never question me. Is that understood?"

Balthazar gave a nod-almost curtly, but he caught himself.

"Now," Acton went on, "if you are so hateful towards the exorcist, handle it later. Right now, I think it best to let him take care of our problem. There's nothing he can possibly do to harm us. He'll punish Gomory for us, he'll eliminate the behemoth. No more."

Balthazar thought for a minute then asked curiously, "And the girl?"

The corners at Acton's mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. "Oh, yes. Well, Detective Charles Acton, an upstanding member of the Los Angeles Police, is going to approach her sometime in the near future and question her-in more ways than she'll ever know."

* * *

"John? John, ya in there?" 

**Bam! Bam!**

These were the sounds that awoke John Constantine at 8 am, having only gotten to sleep five hours ago after grabbing a bus home from Eden and then spending some alone time at the kitchen table with his smokes, drinks, and sour memories. John was only half awake, but he already knew he had a hangover.

"John? John!"

**Bambambam!**

John rolled over-and promptly fell off of the couch, missing a collision with the cheap coffee table by mere inches.

_Well, that's one way for a quick wake up._

John grumbled some curses, mostly directed at Chas for waking him up, and the rest just curses for the hell of it.

He picked himself up and half-walked, half-dragged himself to the door, which Chas was still yelling at and pounding.

He opened the door just as Chas was going for another swing. Chas's eyes widened in surprise, but also at the sudden horrific realization that he was about to hit John Constantine in the face.

But the boy was shocked when John-who looked like a bum that had wandered into the room by mistake, with his dark hair tousled, morning whiskers on his face, his shirt messed up, and a sort of greenish sickly look on his face-grabbed the wrist with a firm-_too_ firm-grip.

"Hey, nice reflexes," Chas complimented.

John's eyes, though a little glazed over, glared down at the kid. "What do you want, Chas?" he half-growled, half-mumbled.

"What do I want!" Chas said indignantly, "I wanted to know if you were _okay_! Wanted to know how things went at the club last night, if you got any leads, that kinda thing." He added with a wince, "And you can let go of my wrist any time, John. Anytime at all."

John did, then turned and went back into his dim apartment-the lights from the hall were hurting his eyes. Chas invited himself in, trailing John. The kid's eyes fell on the ash tray, which was piled with used cigs, and the empty and half-empty beer bottles on the table.

"Uh…something happen last night, John?" Chas asked carefully. No, it wasn't unusual for John to smoke (smoked what, 3 packs a day?) or to drink (his liver was in constant battle with his lungs to see who would finally kill him) but he didn't typically binge on both of them at the same time.

John paused for a minute, but then just shrugged and mumbled something Chas didn't overhear. John headed in the direction of the bathroom. Chas figured it was either to throw-up or piss. Either way, he felt it best to just stay in the kitchen and make some coffee.

Still, before John was out of earshot, Chas called scornfully, "Oh yeah, my leg's fine by the way, thanks for asking!"

John shouted back what Chas was sure was a curse, but he didn't quite catch it.

Chas brewed the coffee in a very short amount of time. The number one reason it took so little time, when compared to when Chas made coffee at his own house, was that John was a 'coffee conservative' as Chas had coined the term. John didn't play around with the different flavors and brands or even cream and sugar (this was all blasphemy in the Coffee Gospel of Chas). Instead, John Constantine stuck to regular black. Chas could not fathom how a person could stick to black coffee all of his life. It was like eating lettuce all the time, but never in a salad, never with dressing, never different kinds of lettuce; just green leaves of roughly the same bland flavor.

Chas surveyed the room, appreciating the wooden shuttered walls. He'd always liked those. However, he didn't like them during the day, when only whispers of sunlight entered the room. Unlike John, Chas enjoyed sunlight.

Chas's gaze soon fell on the large bookshelf in the back corner. Temptation bloomed within him like a morning lily at dawn. John _always_ had the best research books, the kinds Chas could never find anywhere else, not even on eBay. And John _never_ shared.

Chas chewed on his tongue, a habit he'd had since a kid whenever nervous or unsure.

Gathering his courage, Chas quietly stepped across the room on tiptoe. He was careful to adjust his weight with each step to avoid making any squeaks on the hardwood floors. The journey seemed to take hours, each step taking an eternity and still not getting him more than inches to the bookshelf that was light-years away.

Finally, after a millennium of sneaking from across the other side of the room, Chas had reached the bookshelf.

"Yesss!" Chas praised in a hushed cheer.

His finger ran excitedly down the row of spines, most of them thicker than the average dictionary. Some of the books Chas recognized, as he'd added them to his own personal collection: 'Studies in the Occult'(a classic), 'Pentacles, Pentagrams, and Premonitions: The Connection Between Magic and Prophesy', 'Paracelsus, Kelley, Cagliostro and More: Alchemists of History', 'Satan's Court'. But the most intriguing books were the ones without any titles at all. These were typically books that seemed centuries old, with leather binding and gold or silver designs printed on the spines in the place of titles.

Chas took a book that wasn't too large, but about the size of the 5th Harry Potter book. It was black with silver designs, no title. Chas slipped it out of the shelf with ease, eager to start reading. But just as he was lifting up the cover, he heard the bathroom door open with a squeak that served well as a warning alarm.

In panic desperation, Chas clutched the book tightly and leapt across the room, touching the floor only twice and, as luck would have it, little sound. He sat down at the kitchen table and slid the book onto his lap, which was hidden under the counter of the table, a move he considered very smooth.

John entered the room, now wearing a new shirt, a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair was still wet. He'd shaved too.

Chas raised an eyebrow. "You took a shower?"

John shrugged. "Needed one."

He looked up at Chas and noticed that the kid's face was red and he was panting…like he'd just ran.

"Chas…"

"What?"

The kid's reaction was too easy. Chas tried to act calm, but his wide eyes and sudden rigidness were dead giveaways.

"Chas, did you do something?" John asked suspiciously.

"Did something? I didn't do anything!" Chas said a little too quickly, before adding with a nod to the coffeemaker, "I made coffee though."

"Uh huh."

John walked over to the cabinets and grabbed a mug from a shelf. While John's back was turned, Chas let out a sigh of relief. John had bought it.

Now standing with his back to Chas, John looked over at his bookshelf, a target he knew Chas would go after if left alone long enough. The kid just did not understand the concept of private property. He just didn't get that he, John, wasn't about to lend out some of the rarest texts in demonology to some kid who couldn't even take care of his _own_ books. John's suspicious guess was confirmed when he saw that the fourth row up, having lost a book, was now slanted dramatically to the right.

Smirking to himself at his own deductive skills, John poured himself a cup of coffee. He looked over his shoulder at Chas.

"Hey, kid, want a cup?" he offered with fake sincerity.

Chas however, believed John's offer as genuine as John extended the mug to him. Despite his extreme dislike of the black coffee, Chas thought it best to except.

He twisted around in his chair to take it. "Yeah sure-"

While Chas was distracted and twisted to the left, John went around the right and snatched the book off of Chas's lap.

"Hey!" Chas cried out, caught completely off guard, realizing all too late that he'd been tricked.

John held the book out of reach and took back his coffee.

"I told you not to touch my books, kid," he reprimanded before he took a gulp of coffee.

Chas glared at him for a minute, then gave up and turned back around in his chair.

"Come on, John. They don't exactly carry those things in the library, you know," he grumbled.

John shrugged. "Too bad, kid."

Chas pouted for a few more seconds before changing the subject.

"And you _still_ haven't asked about my leg."

"I figure, you could walk up the steps and down the hall to get here, you must be in okay shape," John said without a single tone of care.

Chas rolled his eyes. John walked over to the other side of the table and sat down, careful to keep one hand on the book and the other wrapped around his coffee mug.

With a sigh of defeat, Chas said, "Yeah, well… I didn't need stitches or anything. My biggest problem was explaining to the doc how exactly I turned my legs into sushi."

John made a sound like 'hmm…' but it was more of a response to Chas than a response to what Chas was saying. He had grabbed up the little black remote for the small kitchen TV.

Chas went on, this time a little proud, "I told 'em I fell asleep in the cab and some psycho tried to break in. But I woke up when the glass hit my leg and, despite the great amount of pain, was able to jump out of the car, chase after the would-be car thief, corner and subdue him-even though he had a big-ass Bowie knife-and called the cops on the guy's own cell phone."

"Are you leaving out the part where you said you also rescued a kitten from a tree before hopping over to the hospital, or did you think that'd be laying it on a bit thick?" John asked derisively.

Chas glared at him. "Hey, laugh all you want. But she bought it."

John raised an eyebrow, his interest suddenly peaked. "'She'?"

Chas smiled cockily; glad to see that, for once, he had an experience that John could be jealous. "Uh-huh. Just a few months out of med school and I bet I know how she got her high marks…"

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, Chas," he said in skepticism.

Chas frowned. "No, I mean it! She was hott, John!" When John didn't respond and instead turned on the small TV, Chas's irritated flared. He sneered over the new-cast coming in on the TV, "Hotter than any chick you've ever banged."

"Shut up," John snapped, but it was lacking a very authoritative tone, as if he were distracted.

"And Des doesn't count! I mean, come on, exactly how many attractive women have you actually-"

"I said, shut up, Chas," John growled dangerously. But he wasn't angry about what Chas had said; it didn't even seem that he'd been listening. He was looking at the TV, listening to the news report.

Chas looked at the TV too, and he knew why John had been distracted.

The professional black woman reporter with her sensibly cut hair was reporting in from 'the field' with a backdrop of cop cars, their red and blue lights a little distracting to the viewer.

"...the body is as of yet unidentified, though police do believe that he was homeless, and possibly a drug addict. Again, this is the third killing in the Sin District in the past three weeks. Police do believe that this is a serial killer. However, the previous two victims were women prostitutes. This latest victim is a homeless male, baffling investigators."

She was distracted for a moment, looked at someone who was apparently positioned behind the camera, probably a part of the crew.

"Yes. All right, now we have a picture of the body coming in right now and we recommend that younger and sensitive viewers do not view the photo, that only mature viewers watch the photo we are about to show." Her eyes then went to another area off screen, probably the prompter. Just before the photo went up, the reporter's face faltered and her eyes went wide.

"Oh my god-"

And then she was gone, and the photo was up.

Chas thought he was going to throw up. It looked more like an attempt at modern art than a human being. Blood, ranging from shades of scarlet to deep purple, dominated the photo, splattered everywhere. Pink flesh could be discerned, and the remaining grey of the beard (the rest was stained red). You could see in the lower half of the picture strange white sticks…

_Oh god…his ribs…_ Chas thought in stunned horror, _just like the ones you barbeque…_

That thought, grilling a human being's ribs on one of those charcoal grills… 'Kids! Ribs are done!'…you feast on them…Biting into the soft meat…tearing the meat right off of the bone with your teeth, exposing ivory bone…

Chas got up and ran to the bathroom, the vomit already rising in his throat.

John didn't seem to notice. He too was studying the photo, but he, unlike Chas, had the gift of being able to distance himself without getting sick. True, had he been hunting for the beast instead of at Eden, he might have saved the man. But he needed to know _what_ he was hunting. And it was a huge bonus to know that he could be banishing Balthazar before the day was out.

Yes, the man's lower torso had basically been ripped apart, like when you rip up the wrappings of a Christmas present. John, remembering 10th grade anatomy, noted that the man was missing his liver. Human livers were a delicacy to many kind of demons. However, this didn't look like the killer had really been aiming for the liver, only had come across it and chosen to take it on a whim. Well, that was odd. And it didn't help John.

Then a thought occurred to him: _What does it matter? I'm going after Balthazar tonight. Soon this'll all be over._

Yet, it didn't really sit right. Something just didn't fit. Why would Balthazar want those two hookers and this homeless guy dead? And why killed in seemingly random methods? They were all pummeled and pulled apart, but all in different ways. It didn't fit with any ritualistic sacrifices he knew of. Most sacrifices are relatively clean, fit precise patterns, and are conducted in relatively constant manners. These killings didn't fit into any of that. Another odd circumstance was the killing in Sacramento. Another woman killed, but John didn't remember hearing that she'd been a prostitute. In ritualistic sacrifices, the sacrifices were usually conducted in the same exact spot. If otherwise, it's to fit a pattern, like one in the shape of a pentagram. But one killing in Sacramento and three in LA didn't have any location pattern. It was just…random.

And come to think of it, Lilith didn't say that Balthazar was actually responsible for all this…

John shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He was finally getting the chance to banish him back to hell! Why was he having these second thoughts?

It would end tonight, he swore silently to himself.

Chas stumbled back into the room, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. The news cast had gone back to the studio, and the anchorman had moved on to a story about a filthy restaurant on Sunset Blvd.

"John," the kid said shakily as he sat back down, "That…that could've been me."

John turned around, turning off the TV with the remote. Chas was sitting there, staring at nothing, his eyes wide. His palms were flat on the table.

"If…if I hadn't honked the horn…if that thing had grabbed me…that would've been it. I would've…I would've…" Chas didn't seem able to be say it.

So, John said it for him. "Dead," he said simply

"Yeah…" Chas said in almost a whisper.

John shrugged as he took out a cig. "So?"

Chas looked at him and looked extremely hurt. "What? You mean you wouldn't care?" he asked in disbelief.

"Look, kid, you believe in heaven, right?"

"After this 'internship'? Yeah."

"Okay. So why're you scared?"

Chas paused. "Well…"

John cut him off. "What exactly have _you_ done that's so horrible?" he asked coldly.

Chas didn't answer. He hadn't. And he understood that John was offended that he, Chas, had gotten upset when he had little chance of being hell-bound, while John _was_ damned, and could very possibly never be redeemed.

He swallowed. He stood up and said, "Okay. I'll…I'll go and, uh, wait for you to call, I guess."

John blew some smoke in Chas's general direction as the kid walked past.

Before leaving, Chas paused at the door.

He meant to say 'I'm sorry', but he just got out "John, I'm-"

But John cut him off with a gruff, "Don't be."

Even though he thought John was being cold, Chas took the exorcist's words as kindness. With that, he left.


	9. Encontrar

I'm back! FINALLY! Sorry guys-per usual, it was school.

wow-I'm in a C2 now! that rocks! and-I'm almost up to 20,000 words!

Funny. I haven't seen 'Constantine' in about two months and I only saw it once…yet, I'm still holding strong to the fan base. Odd.

Yeah, well, here we get some more of the mystery piecing together. We also get some more of Chas and his life. I like to think that Chas has a life outside of being Constantine's driver, or at least tries to.

There's some Spanish in here ( like the chapter's title). If you want the translation, go find it yourselves 'cause I'm lazy.

* * *

**Chapter 8-Encontrar**

The news broadcast was still on the on-the-scene reporter, who seemed a little paled upon seeing the photo. Still, she pulled off reading the rest of her report without missing a beat, "Police are welcoming any information citizens can provide to help arrest this killer…"

A woman's tanned, red-nail polished finger hit the blue 'power' button on the set. She didn't need to hear anymore. The woman was in her late thirties, but her youthful beauty didn't seem at all threatened by the ever closer, looming number, '40', which made many cringe at its very mention. She was wearing black khakis that hugged her well-formed thighs and butt and a low-cut scarlet shirt. She walked from the living room to her kitchen with a sigh.

Rosario Mandez, 'Rosie' to her friends, sat down at her white kitchen table, her recently manicured hands clasped to her forehead in worry, pushing back her long, dark hair. Spread out before her was a set of newspapers: they were all front pages, the head lines all relating to the Sin District murders ('Another Woman Brutally Murdered in Sin', 'Infamous Sin District Plays Host to a Killer', etc.).

Rosie took her hands away from her face and held them together, as if in prayer.

_Yo lo tengo que encontrar._

She paused for a minute, to gaze at the gory pictures of the victims.

_Pero primero yo tengo que preguntar Dios por perdón._

Later, Rosie knelt in a pew at St. Peter's, her eyes closed and her hands pressed together in prayer. The church had an uncommonly low ceiling, but otherwise it was a very proper house of God. Candles lit the side aisles, illuminating mosaics depicting the Stations of the Cross. The walls were wooden. The frames of the doorways were carved with beautiful crosses and saintly figures. Behind the alter, mounted on a grand pink marble slab, was a life-size replica figure of Jesus on the Cross, carved in Italy and delivered specially to the church.

The confession boxes were in the back, a seemingly foreboding design gesture by the Church. Rosie had considered going to the back. True, the priest could not repeat her confession, but he _could_ call the authorities, or more likely a psych ward. No. Rosie knew that no priest, no matter how devout, would believe her, let alone help her.

When she had finished her silent prayers, she crossed herself, stood, and walked out quietly so as not to disturb the other parishioners. It was hard, however, for high heels to walk quietly on the white marble floor. She paused at the door, which held brass cups of holy water. Rosie dipped her hand into the cup, crossed herself, took a deep breath, and stepped out.

As she walked down the concrete steps from the church to the sidewalk, a man with red hair in a brown suit waited at the base of the steps for her. Rosie didn't even notice the man until she was only three steps away from him. She looked up, and upon seeing him, she tensed, like she was about to run.

"Miss Mendez?" he asked politely with a slightly British accent, "May I have a word?"

"Who're you?" she demanded in clear English.

"Detective Charles Acton, Los Angeles Police," he replied as he produced his badge.

While Rosie seemed a little relieved, she still remained tense. A cop was not the most welcomed person in her life.

"You don't exactly sound like an LA cop," Rosie pointed out suspiciously as she walked down the steps to face the man. Being 5' 6", it wasn't surprising that Rosie was about six inches shorter than the detective. Still, she held a strong composure.

"I was assigned here," Acton said politely. He then added, "But, that doesn't really matter, does it?" His voice suddenly became low, and slightly malicious, "After all, you're not what one would call 'native' either, are you?"

Rosie froze, her eyes widened. How could he know? How could anyone know? The papers, while not genuine, had been good enough to pass through…

Unlike many others, Rosie and her small family had gotten to California not by trying to cross the border, but instead by sneaking on a freighter. Her mother had some how convinced one of the ship hands to let the four of them (Rosie, her mother, her brother, and her aunt) sneak on board in the cargo deck. In fact, her mother was also the one who had managed to mysteriously obtain the forged documents…

But Rosie's citizenship had never been questioned. No one could have known…

"Now, I'll just keep that between us," Acton said, his tone softened, "If you just agree to answer some questions."

"Questions about what?" Rosie asked cautiously.

"The recent murders in the Sin District area," Acton replied.

Rosie relaxed…or at least, that's what she tried to make it appear. Underneath her calm exterior, Rosie's heart began to beat much faster in panic. Was that why she was feeling a little tired all of a sudden?

"What about them?" Rosie asked casually.

"Correct me if I'm mistaken," there was an underline of smugness there, "But, you do work in the Sin District, don't you?" Acton asked.

Rosie nodded-which she regretted rather quickly, because a headache was coming on… "Yes. On nights, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Rest of the week I work in a diner."

"What exactly is your occupation?"

"Waitress." Why was she feeling so tired?

"I mean in the Sin District."

"I'm a…" Rosie hesitated.

Acton seemed fixated on her…and yet, a little distracted.

"Do go on…" he urged quietly in a dark tone as he stared at her.

"I'm a hooker," Rosie admitted. Her head was pounding, and her body felt weak.

"Who do you work for?" Again, Acton's tone was on the edge of threatening, but now he seemed like his mind was elsewhere.

"Mister…" Rosie grabbed the iron black handrail for support. Why was she so exhausted? It didn't make any sense… "Mister B…Mister Balthazar…"

"Yes, yes…" Acton said, his voice almost a whisper. He'd known Rosie's spoken answer all along. But the things he was discovering from within her…they were most interesting.

"I…" Rosie struggled to stand on her own… "I have to go…"

She turned and started to slowly walk away.

"Quite all right," Acton replied after her. He wasn't staring at her anymore, and his tone had switched back to the polite, English lit.

As Rosie got farther from the detective, she began to feel much better.

Acton smiled after her. "You've given more than enough," he said quietly.

* * *

Red Hott Chili Peppers played in the background, muffled out by the chatter of the customers lounging in the couches and chairs around tables as they sipped their espressos, scones, cappicinos, muffins, lattes, and biscottis. The 'Latte Lounge' was pretty laid back, the walls, rugs, carpets, furniture, and counters all colored with calming, cool shades of red, yellow, brown, and green. The lighting wasn't blaringly bright, but it was good enough so that your eyes weren't strained.

A girl about nineteen with short, straight blue hair wearing a server's uniform (cotton white shirt, navy apron with 'Latte Lounge' printed in curly font on the front, and tan khakis) handed her latest customer his drink and took the cash with her black nail polished hand, on which were adorned a three silver rings (one a plain silver ring, another dotted with an obsidian stone, and the other twisted to look braided).

The girl handed back the change with a nice smile and a 'have a nice day'. The customer gave a kind nod, then walked off.

The front door opened, announcing itself as the bells attached to it jingled pleasantly. The girl looked up to see who the newcomer was, and her face brightened up when she saw the curly head, a cabby hat vainly attempting to keep the koosh-ball of hair under control.

"Chas!" the girl waved over excitedly.

Chas walked over to the counter, and despite his attempt to appear cheerful, he still kind of slumped and his face still seemed a little down. He was still kind of shamed from his last conversation with John. He hadn't meant to offend the guy or anything…and he hadn't meant to come of like a wimp either.

"Hey, haven't seen you around here in a while," the girl greeted Chas, "What's up?"

Chas shrugged as he propped his arms up on the counter. "Hey, Zoey," he greeted in turn, "Yeah. Nothin' much going on."

Zoey gave a small smile. "You should've stopped by last Thursday. James Savannah came by and played some tunes. Place was packed! Junes was ecstatic!"

Junes was the guy who ran things. He was a pretty cool guy, but he was more into money than he would typically let on.

"James Savannah? You actually got him?" Chas asked, surprised.

James Savannah was an up-and-coming local musician. He played the acoustic guitar and sang-sometimes love songs, some times Bob Dylan-style songs, with metaphors about all the shit going on in the world. Actually, Savannah's songs were probably a lot simpler than they seemed, given that most of his fans were high during or after attending his performances. Word was that he was soon to get a record deal, complete with a music video and maybe even a tour.

Zoey nodded with pride. "I got an autograph or two. I figure I'll sell 'em on eBay when he gets really famous and earn myself a couple hundred bucks or so," she said with a wink.

Chas laughed.

"So, you still got that taxi gig?"

Chas paused. So much for looking for a little distraction.

He cleared his throat before replying, "Uh…yeah. Still got it."

He changed the subject: "So…still going to Pierce?"

Zoey paused, her eyes going to the floor. "Uh…yeah."

Zoey had been lucky. She'd had the money to go to college. She was majoring in business, she told Chas, so she could either take over the 'Latte Lounge' when Junes left (he'd mentioned that he'd been planning on retiring in a few years) or make her own business, selling jewelry or something.

Chas, however, had not been lucky. He had never been that great in school, especially not after he'd gotten the job with the cab company and later became John Constantine's transport. And he definitely didn't have the money. He was lucky to have enough to live on his own.

"Hey, uh, Chas," Zoey said in a quiet voice, "Are you gonna order something? Cause I'm supposed to be working…"

Chas sighed heavily. Great. Now he'd upset Zoey. He wanted to change the subject. But what could he talk about? He hadn't been around to talk about anything that had happened around the area or socially and he mind was mostly full of information on the occult rather than anything, well, normal.

"Hey…uh…" Chas searched his head for something-_anything_ to talk about. Finally, he found it. "You here about that serial killer in the Sin District?"

Zoey, who had gone to busy herself with the frappacino machine, looked over her shoulder at him. "Yeah. Glad I don't have to walk home through there. Gives me the creeps."

"Yeah, I know."

Zoey gave him a strange look before Chas managed to realize how weird he'd just sounded.

"Er…I mean, that place freaks me out too."

"Oh, yeah?" Zoey raised an eyebrow, "You ever been down there?"

Chas straightened a little with pride. "Oh yeah. I was just down there just the other night."

"Wait…while that psycho was down there? Are you crazy?"

"Well, you know the taxi-cabbie motto: Come rain or snow or psychopaths…"

Zoey laughed and Chas was feeling a little better.

"Okay. Well, for our courageous hero, I'll give you a chocolate-chip muffin, on the house," Zoey said as she lifted up the glass covering over the plate of muffins, scones, and other pastries.

"Sweet."


End file.
